


Red Flowers

by inlovewithnight



Category: Belgariad/Malloreon Series - David & Leigh Eddings
Genre: Backstory, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 02:24:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long ago, in Cthol Murgos, Polgara fell in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Roga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roga/gifts).



As I believe Father noted in his longwinded story, a large number of our tasks over the years were related to setting up bloodlines to produce someone we would need later. Nudging young people toward each other became less of an art and more of a craft to me, something I could reproduce endlessly without putting too much work into the individual example.

There was one case that stood out very much otherwise, though. I didn't include it in my own exercise in narcissism because it's not a story I feel any desire to tell my father, or Garion. I love them both very much, but they're terrible prudes and terribly boring about it. And when Father got over his prudery, he would feel the need to lecture me for breaking the rules for carrying out our tasks, because it's such a valuable use of time to lecture me about something that happened long ago. Hundreds and hundreds of years.

Gods, so long ago.

But I am a scholar first, before anything else (I believe the Old Man mentioned that, too, that we all spent more time _studying_ than anything else, on the balance, except during the flurries of time when we were running all over the world. Even while I was in hiding with the kings, I made time when I could to call my books to me and keep up with my studies. First duty and first love, after Beldaran), and I find myself unable to leave the story incomplete. So this chapter will be an addendum to the copy indexed at Riva and the other major libraries. And if Father or Garion try to get their hands on it, I'll send them both to bed with a nasty case of the pox.

And so.

It began, as all of our tasks began, with Aldur asking for my attention.

**

This was before the Fall of the Rivan King, well before I began my time as a guardian, and so I was in the Vale, engrossed in my books, when the familiar blue glow spread through the room and the Master appeared before me.

"Beloved daughter," he said, and I smiled at him, tucking a feather into my book to hold my place.

"Master." I inclined my head. "I'm so glad to see you."

"You are well, Polgara?"

So many have claimed that my name invokes fear and dread, but it never sounded anything but gentle coming from Aldur. "Very well, Master. What brings you here today?"

"A task." He sighed, a weary and ancient sound. 

"Our tasks are important, Master."

"You needn't remind me, beloved." He smiled at me, and I blushed, ducking my head. "I have your cooperation, then?"

"Always."

He gestured, and an image formed at the center of the room. I studied it for a moment and began to frown. "An Angarak girl?"

"A Murgo woman," he confirmed and corrected at once. "Her name is Katarah."

"She must live in a village," I said, studying her image more closely. "She's not veiled, so she can't be of high rank."

"I know that you have studied well, daughter. There is no need to demonstrate your knowledge to me."

As reproofs went, it was a dozen times more gentle than Father or Uncle Beldin would have given me, but part of being a disciple is that displeasing your Master aches deeply in the chest. I don't know how Zedar lived with it for so long.

"What is my task, Master?" I asked when the sting had faded.

"One of her grandchildren's grandchildren will be of interest to us."

"Oh! A bloodline." I sat back in my chair and frowned. "I didn't think any of our helpers would be Murgos."

"She is not one of our prophecied ones."

"One of the other side's?" I frowned more, folding my arms across my chest. "Why would we want to help the other side?"

"Remember, Polgara, nothing is determined. So many things must turn precisely in time, and for every one that goes differently than expected, the entire story could change." He glowed more brightly for a moment, as if more of his essence was in the room with me. "The followers of the other Purpose have been forced to make choices, as have we. They have decided that her bloodline is optional but not necessary, and will not be protecting it through to the final EVENT."

"But you think they should be?"

"Our Purpose and I have conferred and agreed that there are reasons to want this bloodline to successfully carry through."

"What reasons?"

Aldur laughed, sorrowful and ancient and kind. "Ah, my daughter. Perhaps my most stubborn child." In his voice, it was nothing but a compliment. "If we fail, and you become my brother Torak's Queen, Katarah's granddaughter will be your handmaiden."

My chest tightened, and for a moment my vision dimmed. "Are things going so badly, Master? We are making plans for if we fail?"

"No, my beloved child. Things stand at an impasse, as we strive to keep them."

"Then why... why would you..." My voice broke. I was, after all, still very young. "Why would you force me to plan for my own enslavement?"

"You misunderstand my wishes, Polgara." He touched my cheek, and his hand felt almost solid, almost there. "I have no desire for this to happen. But if it should, it is imperative to me that you will not be alone."

I closed my eyes and struggled to regain my breath and my composure. "What must I do?"

"Katarah must bear a child by this man." He gestured again, conjuring the image of a young man who was, in all respects, a fairly generic Murgo warrior. I dutifully committed his face to memory. "His name is Raketh. Your task is to ensure that they marry and have that child."

"How am I to do this? How will I live in Cthol Murgos, how will I gather information, what--"

"Daughter." Reproof again. In hindsight, I know that it was my rattled composure that made me ask such foolish questions, but at the time I simply flushed with shame. "If I did not have confidence that you will make a plan and complete your task, I would have taken it to one of my other beloved children."

"Of course, Master," I whispered. "I will not fail you."

"I have no doubt of that." He touched me again, and then he was gone.

I sat at my table for a long time, staring down at the book I no longer had time for. Now we know that the EVENTS were hidden away in our choices, that there may have been thousands of them that we never knew of over the centuries. I wonder, sometimes, if it was an EVENT when I got to my feet, walked to the window, and threw myself out, changing into a red-tailed hawk and catching the wind north instead of south, to Drasnia instead of Cthol Murgos. I formed the skeleton of a plan before I stormed ahead on my journey, and I added bits of flesh to it as I flew. Likely that was why this task was mine and not any of my brothers'.

That, and Aldur always knew things he didn't see fit to share.

**

Drasnian Intelligence was already well-established and on its way to being the annoying but useful organization it is today. I won't excuse many of the things Drasnian Intelligence has done in its endless quest to dig out everyone else's secrets and keep them like jewels on its shelves, but I've used their resources often enough that I'd be a hypocrite to scold or moralize.

In the case of my preparations for Cthol Murgos, Drasnian Intelligence was able to provide me with exactly what I needed, in the person of an agent who looked absolutely nothing like a Drasnian.

"He comes from one of the border towns over by Gar Og Nadrak," the Drasnian King explained to me. He was the only one aware of my identity and the need for it not to be broadcast. I couldn't afford to be trapped in Drasnia for a month while priests of Belar swarmed around me. "His mother was a Nadrak woman. He takes after her from head to toe."

"She was a _willing_ mother, I hope?" I asked him pointedly. "Your citizens aren't getting improper, are they?"

The king was visibly offended by the question, and I admit it wasn't exactly ladylike, but I didn't have time to mince around, and if the Alorns were going to rediscover their enthusiasm for rape and pillaging, I needed it to stop. Before the king could bluster at me, though, a voice came from the doorway.

"Believe me, my lady. All twelve of her children were very much my mother's idea." He sketched a vague bow in my direction. "For the purposes of this mission, you may call me Garak. And what should I call you?"

"This," the king said severely, "is the Lady Pol--"

"Polanna," I said quickly, giving Garak my blandest smile. His name sent a start through me, as close as it was to my father's birth-name. This would be a strange journey if I would have to spend half my time biting my tongue to keep from snapping at him and calling him Old Man.

(Astute readers may recognize the name Polanna as the same one I used when I carried out a mission in Gar Og Nadrak much, much later on. I admit I don't waste creativity on my aliases. Keep them simple, keep them familiar, reuse as able, those are the rules for aliases as far as I'm concerned.)

"Polanna," Garak said. "I'll drop the 'Lady,' if you don't mind, so I don't get into bad habits before we're on the road."

"You know where we're going?" I asked.

"Cthol Murgos," he said, belatedly remembering to bow to his king. "I'm a Nadrak looking to make a profit, you're my woman. Under the surface, I'm sending information back to Drasnia and you're carrying out some mission I'm not to ask about unless I want to lose some fingers."

"You're chopping off fingers now?" I frowned at the king. "Honestly?"

"I don't ask what my spymasters are doing to preserve discipline, Lady."

"Maybe you should."

"Anyone foolish enough to lose a finger got caught, which is as clear a sign as any that they shouldn't be a spy," Garak said philosophically. "When would you like to get on the road, Pol?"

"Polanna," I corrected.

"If we're not going to be friendly, it's going to be a very long ride south."

"I imagine we'll survive."

He touched his hat in a less than respectful salute. "As you wish."

He was a delight. One of my favorites of all the Drasnians I've worked with in my life. (No one tell Silk. He'd be terribly jealous.)

**

It was a long ride south, but we made the best of it. By the time we reached Zagal, the rural village in Araga military district where Katarah lived, we'd come to know each other and established a good working relationship. I was confident that Garak would maintain his role and protect my back where the Will and the Word could not.

Garak's persona was of a Nadrak miner with wanderlust, who had come into a windfull upon his father's death and decided to strike out for new lands. I was, of course, his woman, knives in my boots and at my belt, my face and hair veiled. The veil would actually have been very out of place in Gar Og Nadrak, even then, but in Cthol Murgos it would pass without commentary, and I could, with any luck, carry on without any priests of Torak catching word of my presence.

The village priest certainly wouldn't be the one to catch me; he was nearly blind, and bent over double with arthritis. The altar in Zagal hadn't seen blood in years, which was a great relief to me. I could maintain my role in the presence of sacrifices, but it would have been agonizing. This way, the most difficult part was kneeling quietly while the priest read out all the stories that Torak had distorted and not shouting out that they were lies.

I was able to find Katarah quickly after we established ourselves, as she was the daughter of a prominent man in the village, beautiful, and full of the confidence and vigor that distinguish the young. People looked at her with indulgence and admiration when she walked through the dusty main streat of Zagal. She smiled at everyone, and laughed with the sweet clarity of bells ringing. She was, to put it mildly, noticeable in that dusty and ragged place.

She was also extremely devout. Not to the point of fanaticism, but it was a near thing. She walked to the village's sad little Temple of Torak every day and sometimes spent upwards of three hours kneeling before the altar and the great silver mask behind it, praying to the god who would tear her heart from her chest as soon as look at her. Her faith was honest and true, and even now I cannot disparage it, even if I did not and do not understand how she could give it to something so unworthy.

Although I identified her quickly, it took much longer for me to make contact with her. Garak and I had to establish our home and his mining camp, and find our place in the daily life of the village. The villagers, holding the typical inter-Angarak scorn for those not considered their own kind, were not inclined to make that easy. After a month of washing red Murgo dust out of everything Garak and I owned and struggling to keep anything resembling cleanliness in a mining hut, I had had enough.

I couldn't use the Will and the Word for fear of attracting attention from Zedar or any gifted priests, but I always have had a liking for making things with my hands. I sent Garak to a larger town nearby to purchase fat and a kettle, and then went climbing up to the little meadows scattered throughout the mountains, looking for flowers that I could use to add scent to the soap.

The best-smelling flowers were small, about the size of my thumbnail. They were a deep, deep crimson around the edges and golden at the heart, dipping inward to form a little mouth with a stamen tongue.

"Do you know what those are called?" came a voice from behind me as I gathered flowers to fill my basket. I looked up to find Katarah standing on a rock, smiling at me.

"No," I said, straightening and returning the smile. "Do they have a special significance?"

She laughed. "Only to me. They're called katarah-ali--'sweet mouth.' It means the same as my name, Katarah."

"They're beautiful." I wiped my hands on my skirt, leaving streaks of the flowers' juices. "I'm Polanna."

"I know. The Nadrak's woman."

Of course. She would have heard all about me within moments of when Garak and I entered the village. "It's nice to meet someone in a friendly way."

"Everyone keeps to themselves here." She shrugged as if this was the kind of fact I should have known; it was, of course. I was not making a good first impression of myself. But she was still smiling. "It's nice to meet someone who isn't from here, or at most a day's ride away."

"Surely you see traveling priests. Soldiers."

"Oh, yes. But still." She brushed her hair off her face and descended from the rock. "Let me help you with the flowers. What are you going to do with them?"

"Make soap." 

Her eyes widened. "Soap?"

"To sell in the village, and, well, to use."

"Soap that smells like flowers." She laughed, not meanly but surprised. "I think things like that only exist in the cities. We wouldn't know what to do with it here. Soap is to clean clothes, not smell pretty."

I was bungling this task left and right. "It's an indulgence, I know."

"Lord Torak forgive."

I repressed the shudder that wanted to tear through me at her casual use of the name. "Yes, of course."

"Lord Torak's love will save us all from the heathens." She smiled and tossed a handful of flowers into my basket. "Once we've brought the world from its false ways to the truth."

I tugged my veil more securely over my face and gathered a few more plants, setting them with the others with more care than they needed. "It's getting late."

"Oh." She nodded and brushed her hair back again. "These flowers have other uses, you know? If you decide not to make the soap? They make a tea that's good for soothing a restless stomach."

"That's always useful." Drying the flowers wouldn't be as distracting or properly exhausting as making soap, but the villagers might be more likely to accept it. "Thank you."

"Adding a few other herbs in helps even more. If you're free tomorrow afternoon, I can show you? They grow higher up, toward the tree line."

Finally, something useful for my task. Getting to know Katarah better, perhaps as equals, would let me steer her toward the Murgo warrior we needed her to love. "I would greatly appreciate that."

"I'll meet you at the temple after third bell, then." She smiled and turned away, climbing up and over the rocks as easily as a child. "Goodbye, Polanna!"

"Goodbye." My own descent to the village was much slower and more sedate. And my mind was buzzing, trying to find the best way of guiding Katarah to her destiny. Garak would do the cooking that night; I needed to call some books and refresh my grasp on Murgo marriage customs.

**

Katarah knew the plants of the region inside and out, which was a pleasant surprise to me; I was used to having complete expertise, but the flora of Cthol Murgos had never been studied in-depth in any book that had made its way to me. I walked through the mountain meadow with her in the day, and took voluminous notes in the evening, assembling a fairly comprehensive herbal of the area and trying to ignore my despair over how many other plants must be growing through the rest of the Angarak kingdoms that I might never know. Plants that might heal or dye or flavor amazingly, and I would never be able to use them. Or at least, not as long as Torak remained with his people.

That subject was a more difficult part of my growing friendship with Katarah. As I said, she was devout, a firm believer in the superiority of the Angarak faith and Torak's leadership over all the other races of man. In my disguise as a Nadrak woman, I could hardly argue with her, though the typical Nadrak disinterest in spiritual things was to my advantage. Katarah commented more than once on how she was worried for my soul, and how if I only deepened my connection to Torak, I would know peace.

If the altar in the village had been inch-deep in blood, would her faith have been as pure and hopeful? I cannot say. I know that her gentler god brought her peace and comfort, which I must respect, even if I did not know the Torak she spoke of. He was not the bridegroom who came for me in my nightmares.

One evening, as we sat on an outcropping high above a meadow where the village's goats grazed, Katarah's theology wandered to the subject of her god's promised bride. Queen Polgara, who needed the prayers of the faithful to turn her proud face from the error of her ways and bring her to Torak's side.

I did not choke while she talked, and the veil kept my face my own secret, but it was a deep and real pain, to hear someone speak of how deeply they wished for my life to turn to something so abhorrent to me. She devoutly yearned for my enslavement, for the breaking of my will. And yet, at the same time, she was speaking of someone else, an imaginary woman, a figure from the Book of Angarak, not me at all. I couldn't recognize the Queen Polgara in her words. This Polgara was a myth with my name.

That was what enabled me to take a breath when she fell silent and say in a normal tone, "Your belief in their love is inspiring, Katarah."

"I think Polgara is wonderful. Misguided, but when she corrects herself, she will be the strongest, proudest queen." Katarah smiled up at the sky. "There's a bit of--not formally, of course, the priests would never allow it, but the women of Cthol Murgos, we pray to Polgara, sometimes. Some women paint or carve or embroider icons of her, to ask for her blessing and protection."

My breath caught in my chest. "I... I've never heard of such a thing." And I was quite sure that Aldur would _not_ approve of it.

"Oh, yes. Pregnant women, women whose husbands beat them, women who have been... treated unjustly. They ask Lady Polgara to protect them or to speak in their name."

"Does she answer?" I knew that I didn't answer anything, but this idea of a cult dedicated to me was the sort of thing to fire all my curiosity.

Katarah shrugged and blushed, her gaze dropping to the ground. "As much as Torak does. In mysterious ways. We can't pretend to understand the ways of gods and their chosen."

"Not at all," I agreed, and we sat in silence for a while, watching the goats nose amongst the flowers.

"It's beautiful up here," she said finally, resting her chin on her knees and wrapping her arms around them. "I come here to think."

"What do you think about?" I asked, wishing the veil didn't keep me from watching her from the corner of my eye.

"Oh, everything. Life, love, duty. Polgara." She laughed. "Nothing of any great consequence, I suppose."

"Life, love, and duty are everything of consequence, I think."

"Fair enough." She shook her head, letting the breeze tug at her dark hair. "My father wants me to marry."

Ah, here it was. My opportunity, all but gift-wrapped. "Oh? You are of age, I suppose."

"Older than of age. I'm almost an old maid, in the villages." She sighed. "He's in negotiations with a soldier from Rak Araga. It's very significant. An honor."

"You don't sound happy."

She shrugged. "It's duty. My happiness is... well. Of no consequence."

"Have you met your soldier? Perhaps you will love him after all."

"I haven't." She was quiet for a moment, staring down into the valley. "I do not think I will be able to love him, though."

"You can't say that in before you've even met, Katarah, dear."

"I can, though." She looked at me with a brittle smile. "I want children, Polanna, I want a home, but... my affections do not..."

I waited for her to finish, but she lapsed into silence. "I don't understand," I said finally. "Your affections do not what?"

She laughed, but it was a choked, unhappy sound. "Oh, Pol."

Hearing the old, sweet nickname from her lips made my stomach twist, though I couldn't say why. Silly child that I was, I assumed the feeling I had must have been an echo of my love for Beldaran. "Katarah, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." She got to her feet and brushed the dust from her skirts. " We should go back."

I stood awkwardly, confused by her sudden haste, and followed her down the path. "Come by the camp, I have more tea ready."

"I'll pick it up tomorrow, I really must get home."

"Katarah, are you angry with me?" Achieving my task without her cooperation was absolutely possible, but it would be a great deal of work. Or so I told myself at the time; in truth, the sudden cold I felt was at the idea of losing her friendship, not failing the Master at all. I couldn't admit that to myself.

She stopped and smiled at me, an expression of pain and something else, something I couldn't name, then. "No, Pol. I'm not angry at all." She grabbed my hand and kissed it, then hurried on her way, calling back that she would see me tomorrow.

I returned to the camp and made dinner for myself and Garak, puzzling over the conversation. I couldn't parse it, however I tried. I resolved that the next day I would speak to her as if nothing strange had happened, and allow things to sort themselves out. Surely they would. The world was a place of logic and order, where things made sense, after all, and if it wasn't, well, I would force it to be.

I was a little fool, in so many ways, then.

**

Garak went off into the hills the next day, ostensibly to work in the mine but really to meet with his contacts from the nearby towns and cities, so they could trade information that in the great scheme of things was meaningless, in the long scheme of things was powerful, and in the scheme of Garak being paid impressive bonuses from Drasnian Intelligence, was worth Garak's own weight in gold. Boys and their games. I served him breakfast, packed him a lunch, and sent him off on his way, threatening him halfheartedly with my daggers in the name of keeping up our roles properly. It was a typical morning for us.

I wrapped up the packet of tea for Katarah and busied myself with the chores, an endless and futile battle against the dust. I didn't know what time Katarah would be coming, but there was more than enough to do to fill the day. Father would have used other means to take care of the chores, I have no doubt, but I needed to occupy my hands and my thoughts and had no desire to call Angarak priests down on the village.

Still, when lunchtime came and Katarah still hadn't come, I was tired, sweaty, and the slightest bit annoyed. I sat down at the table to eat bread, cheese, and one of the dense little fruits that could live in the high desert. The hut was peaceful, if still not clean to my standards, and perhaps I could spend the afternoon studying. I had neglected my books for wandering in the hills with Katarah, though of course completing my task was the most important thing right now, and--

"Polanna?" I looked up and found Katarah standing in the doorway. "Sorry I didn't come this morning. I needed to help my mother, and then I went to the temple. Oh, you're eating. I can come back?"

"No, no. Please, join me." I gestured at the other chair. "I'm glad you came. I was worried."

"Worried?" She smiled at me as she arranged her skirts and sat down. "There's nothing to worry about here."

I couldn't bear to argue with her. "Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

"Water and some bread would be wonderful. Thank you." She watched me bustle around the tiny kitchen carved out of the general space of the hut by sheer force of my determination not to let Garak leave his things there. "Do you love him?"

I nearly dropped the water jug. "What?"

"Garak. Your husband."

"He's not my husband, dear." I regained my composure and poured her water. "He's my owner."

She sighed. "I could never live in Gar Og Nadrak."

"No one will ask you to." I forced a smile and handed her the cup, then moved to cut the bread. "I like him. We're accustomed to each other."

"Is that the best to be hoped for?" She sounded wistful and sad. "To be accustomed to each other?"

"Katarah." I kept myself turned away from her, focusing on the bread and knife. "What is bothering you so?"

"I don't want to be married."

The knife nearly slipped, and I set it down on the board before I lost a finger to it. "Your father has reached an agreement with the soldier?"

"Yes. He'll be here in two week's time." Now her voice was listless. "I don't know what to do."

"Perhaps you'll meet him and find him to be everything you want."

"No. That will not happen."

"You can't reject a man you haven't even met, darling. You can't know yet."

"I _do_." Her voice broke in frustration, and I turned, surprised. She was standing now, quite close to me. "Why don't you hear me, Pol?"

I couldn't think of a thing to say, and it didn't matter, because she kissed me.

Her hands cupped my face, warm and rough; she was a pampered girl for a village, but she was still a village girl, doing work every day. The callused pad of her thumb brushed over my lower lip, coaxing me to open my mouth to her kisses, and I couldn't refuse a request so sweet and gentle. Her lips against mine, her tongue slipping soft and wet against my own--I had never experienced such a thing. Much less the heat that it stirred in my chest, the tightness in my belly. I had never felt _anything_ like I did when Katarah kissed me in that miserable little miner's camp.

I've felt it since, of course; love and passion both, in different measures, for men and women alike over the years, and of course for Durnik, my last and most steadfast companion. But I think nothing is ever as sweet as the first taste. Nothing is ever as breathless as the first touch. And so I would never forget Katarah even if I ever should wish to.

"I love women, Polanna," she whispered against my mouth. "I can never be happy with Raketh."

I nodded, stunned silent, and she kissed me again. "I... I understand, now."

"I hope so." She pulled back a few inches, enough to look at me. "Where is your man?"

"At the mine."

She nodded and licked her lips. My eyes went to them, mesmerized by the wet flesh. "Would you... would you like to lie down with me?"

I nodded, and she led me to the cot.

**

I won't elaborate further on anything that happened that afternoon, or in the two weeks that followed. Some things are private. Father's standard remark about how bridegrooms look startled the morning after the wedding while brides look smug is both tired and inaccurate, but I was both joyfully startled and very, very smug as I learned all of the lessons Katarah had to teach me.

The golden idyll couldn't last, of course. While I was spending my days with Katarah, the soldier Raketh and his men were riding closer and closer to the village to claim his bride, and I was doing nothing to coax Katarah into the marriage to ensure the necessary family line. In truth, my task hardly crossed my mind in that time that Katarah and I were together, and when it did, I pushed the thought away as quickly as possible. I didn't want to serve the Purpose. I wanted to be with her.

The Purpose would only be put off for so long, of course.

One morning, while Katarah was at prayers, I walked up to one of the mountain meadows I now thought of as ours. I took a basket to gather edible plants and sang to myself as I walked, letting the veil slip back from my head so I could feel the sun on my face. I was young, I was in love, and I was happy. Everything felt very simple.

When I reached the meadow, a wolf was waiting for me. A very familiar wolf.

"Hello, mother," I said in the language of wolves, setting my basket in the grass.

She inclined her head in greeting and twitched her ears at me. "You know why I am here, daughter."

"I have not forgotten my duty." The language of wolves has no way to sound defensive, but I knew I wasn't fooling my mother for a moment.

"You are not _fulfilling_ your duty, either," she sniffed. "The Master did not wish to embarrass you by coming himself, but you are fortunate I was able to come in his stead, or he might have sent your father. Or Beldin."

"I'm not doing anything wrong."

"I did not say that you were." She flicked her tail at me. "The human disapproval of mating for pleasure has always puzzled me."

"Mother!"

"She is a lovely puppy, but she has a task to perform as well, and you are not assisting her in performing it. And you cannot remain here with her forever. You have your duties."

"As if I would ever be allowed to forget." I turned away from her and grabbed my basket, moving blindly toward the path back to the village, but she easily rounded me and cut me off, lifting her lip in a soft growl.

"Polgara," she said. "Do not be angry with me simply for reminding you of the way things must be. There is no point to such anger."

"I feel it regardless of if there is a point." I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. "Why can't I be happy? Why do my duties forbid me from finding happiness?"

"They do not," she said firmly. "They do not take away the happiness you have already felt, and they will not take away the happiness you will feel in the future. You cannot remain here forever, because you have things to do. Take your happiness with you in your heart."

"And Katarah? What about her happiness? Locked in a marriage she does not want, with a man who will never make her happy?"

Mother sniffed at me. "Only humans believe that anything is ever so simple and permanent as that."

And then she was gone.

One thing I will, absolutely, agree with from Father's ridiculous book is that Mother can be _extremely_ cryptic and infuriating. I know it's because she's a wolf, but gods above, it hardly excuses some of the things she's done over the centuries.

In this case, though, she was absolutely correct and said precisely what I needed to hear to spur me on my task again. I went back to the mining camp, my basket unfilled. I called my books from the Vale and dug back into some particularly thin but recent volumes on Angarak theology and cultural mores. And by sunset, I had the beginnings of a plan.

**

Katarah came to the camp the next morning. "Pol, where were you yesterday? I waited in the meadow, but you never came."

"I got caught up in work. I'm sorry, I should've sent a message."

"I could've come here looking for you. I assumed it was work." She crossed the room and gathered me in her arms, then kissed me softly. "Then today I came straight over, in case I was wrong."

"Not at all." I touched her cheek, looking into her eyes. They were beautiful eyes, dark and kind, with laugh lines at the corners. She was so beautiful, Katarah of Zagal.

"Are you all right?" she asked, leaning into my hand. "You look exhausted."

"I'm tired, yes." I closed my eyes and savored the touch for a moment, then drew my hand away. "Katarah, I need to talk to you."

"Do we have to talk right away?" She grinned. "We could have a lie-in first. Enjoy the morning."

"No, Katarah. We need to talk."

She frowned and stepped back from me. "What's the matter?"

"You have to marry Raketh."

Her face crumpled a bit. "What are you talking about? Polanna, please, I told you--"

It broke my heart to lie to her. "Garak's mine is a failure. He's sending me back to Gar Og Nadrak so he can go farther into the mountains without me."

"Oh, Pol!" She reached for me, shaking her head. "I'll miss you so much."

"I want you to be taken care of when I'm gone, dear."

She laughed softly. "Pol. Darling. I'm as taken care of as I was before you got here. You... I love you, darling, but you haven't changed my life."

That stung more than a bit, but fair enough. "I haven't, no. But your father isn't going to want to pass up the dowry a soldier from the city can bring. If you refuse the marriage, he's not going to just accept it."

"I can manage my father." Some of her bravado was already gone, though. The Angarak religion emphasizes obedience to the father as Torak's stand-in for daily life. Defying her father was more than her faithful soul could conceive of.

"You don't have to manage him. I have a plan."

"A plan where I marry Raketh?" She gave a bitter laugh, painful to hear. "That's the plan that's been set out for me as long as I can remember, only with a name on it at last."

"Marry him and stay with him long enough to have one child." She shook her head, opening her mouth to protest again, and I caught her hand, squeezing tightly. "In the law, it says that the first child is the proof of validity of the marriage, doesn't it?"

"Of course. Lord Torak says so."

Angarak societies, theocracies all. "And once the marriage is proved valid, you get your part of the dowry."

"That's never actually paid out, Pol. It's symbolic. The husband gives it in jewelry and the wife wears it on holy days, that's all."

"Jewelry is _excellent_ for breaking down and using for currency. Now. Katarah. Take your jewelry, take your baby, and run to one of the convents of the Sisters Sworn to Torak's Hand."

Her mouth fell open. "The Sisters? They still exist?"

They did recently, according to my books. And if Katarah agreed, I could buy a handful of days to actually _find_ them. "They do."

"Get married, have a child, run away and be sworn to Torak." She stared off into the shadows of the hut for a moment. "My father will be furious. And dishonored."

"Devoting yourself to your god is hardly a dishonor."

"Abandoning my husband is." She took a breath and dragged her fingers through her hair, then looked at me. "You're sure of this, Pol? You're sure I won't just be caught and executed?"

I couldn't make that promise, of course. "I'll leave you a way to contact Garak. He'll help you get to the convent when you're ready."

She shook her head. "Garak doesn't even know me."

"As a favor to me, he'll do it." This was a promise that I _shouldn't_ have made, not before speaking to Garak myself, but perhaps some bit of the Purpose spoke through me then. Or else I have a bit of Father's gambling streak in me after all.

"I need to think," she said, getting carefully to her feet. "I'll speak to you in a day or two, all right? I just... I need to think. This isn't what I expected when I came here today."

"I know." It took everything I had not to glance over at the cot. "I'm sorry I surprised you."

"I'm absolutely certain you haven't told me everything," she said, so softly I could hardly hear her. "I wonder what you really are."

She was gone before I could formulate a reply. Alone in the little mining hut, I sat down at the table and wept.

**

The next day, I rose early and made breakfast for myself and Garak. While he ate, I told him that I had received a message to return north soon, and that I had a supplementary mission for him here in Cthol Murgos.

He was unsurprised to hear that it was to protect Katarah and help her escape. "You weren't exactly subtle, my dear," he said. "If the collective imagination of this village was able to grasp the concept of what you two were up to, we all would've been lined up and had our throats cut. Since said collective imagination doesn't exist, though, I didn't say anything while you were having your fun."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," I said icily.

"Come off it, Polgara." He raised his eyebrows at me. "Oh, yes, I figured that out, too. We're not all complete dunces, you know."

"Will you help her or not, Garak?"

"Of course I will. She's a sweet girl and she deserves better than being a Murgo soldier's broodmare. Of course, she deserves better than spending her life locked in a cell praying for Torak's face to heal, too, but--"

"From what I've read, the Sisters don't lock themselves away. They grow food and do good works. Prayer in action as well as self-sacrifice."

"I'm amazed Angaraks have heard of the concept."

"I think there's more to the Angaraks than we've allowed ourselves to know, Garak. They're a whole people, not just a list of stereotypes in the Book of Alorn."

He winked at me. "You don't have to tell me that, Polgara. I was raised by my mother, after all."

"Stop calling me that." At his gesture of apology, I shook my head and resumed my thoughts. "I need to find one of the convents and make sure my books aren't completely out of date or inaccurate. I'm going to do that today. Can you work near the hut, in case Katarah comes back? Just tell her you sent me on an errand and I'll be back soon."

"You think she'll believe me?"

"She doesn't have any other options, does she?" I unwound my veil and dropped it to the cot. It felt strange to be without it; I felt naked and daring. "And I trust you."

"How kind of you to say so." He frowned. "Are you going to take a horse? You'll stand out a bit riding along in that dress."

"No, Garak." I pictured my red-tailed hawk again, small and strong and not likely to stand out as badly over the desert as the snowy owl would. "I have my own way."

I flew long, lazy spirals above the desert, using hawk's eyes to search for any sign of the Sisters Sworn to Torak's Hand. The book indicated three convents at the time it was written; presumably they might have expanded by now, but I only needed one.

It was late afternoon by the time I found it. The convent was built with its back against a cliff face, the walls weatherbeaten and worn but not crumbling. In fact, several stretches of it showed signs of recent repair. I landed on the roof of the main temple and studied the grounds with hawk's eyes. There were flower and vegetable gardens, as well as a neatly kept stand of trees that looked like an orchard of some kind. Several women were taking water from a well, while others sat in quiet contemplation or cut the grasses along the walls. The temple smelled only slightly of stale blood, which indicated occasional sacrifices or perhaps symbolic ones of livestock instead of constant human death.

It wasn't ideal; nothing was. But it seemed safe, quiet, and well-kept. That was what I wanted for Katarah.

I flew back to Zagal, landing when it got too dark for a hawk to change into the form of a great horned owl. The body wasn't meant for desert air, but I did the best I could, landing outside the hut a few hours before sunrise.

Garak was waiting up for me, drinking from a flask and flipping slowly through a sheaf of papers covered in Alorn script. I was so exhausted I hardly made it to my chair before my knees gave out.

"Belar's tits, Pol." He jumped from his seat and pressed the flask into my hand. "Take a shot of that, it'll steady your nerves. I'll make you some coffee."

"I just need to sleep." I took a swallow of foul-tasting whiskey and closed my eyes. "The convent exists. I can tell you how to find it."

"I don't care about that right now. You look like you half killed yourself."

"I need to sleep." I allowed myself another swallow of whiskey, then capped the flask and set it aside. "Did Katarah come today?"

"She did." He looked at me for a moment. "I expect you'll sleep through her wedding tomorrow."

"What?"

"She didn't see any point in waiting. Told her father she accepted, and to have the priest take care of it as soon as possible. Which is tomorrow, because that priest never has much to do, you might have noticed."

I had, but I was too stunned to speak. Katarah would be married by the time the sun set again. 

**

I did sleep through the wedding. And then, in one of the great acts of cowardice of my life, I started back for the Vale without saying goodbye.  
Too exhausted to fly again and very aware that my transformation had acted as a beacon to every Angarak priest with a scrap of training in all of Cthol Murgos. I borrowed Garak's clothes, put my hair up in a kind of rough turban, and rode for the border of Nyissa as soon as the sun rose the next day.

That is, I suppose, where the story ends. Except that it doesn't.

Three years later, I went back to Cthol Murgos, ostensibly to look in on Zedar. After I determined that he was just where we'd left him, deeply embroiled in his plots and schemes, I looped toward Araga to see Katarah at the convent.

I used the form of an eagle to cut across the desert, landing high in the trees of the convent's orchard. I scanned the faces of the women at work in the garden, looking for Katarah. Before I found her, though, my attention was caught by a little girl playing in the grass. 

I heard the familiar chime in my head when I looked at her, the signal that she was someone of Purpose who was exactly who and where she should be. Katarah's daughter, carrying out the bloodline that someday would lead to my handmaiden, if things went to the other side. I couldn't feel anything but joy looking at her, despite the dark implications of her identity. She was too beautiful, and too perfectly fulfilling her purpose.

There was also something about her that sent a dart of suspicion through my heart. I drifted down from the treetop to the ground, awkwardly walking around the trunk of the tree so it was between me and the women in the garden, then assumed my own form.

With human eyes, my suspicion was confirmed. The little girl's eyes were exactly like Katarah's, but the rest of her face was the pure image of Garak the Drasnian spy. 

She saw me and tilted her head, pausing in her play. "Hello," I said softly. "Could you get your mother for me?" She nodded and ran off aross the grass, and I waited, steadying myself against the tree.

Katarah walked over from the garden holding the child's hand. She froze in shock when she saw me. "Pol?"

"Hello, darling." I smiled despite the tears that wanted to climb to my eyes. "I know this is a surprise."

"How..."

"There's no time for that," I said gently. "I can only stay long enough to be sure you're all right."

The little girl tugged at her skirts and Katarah scooped her up into her arms, hiding her face against the girl's hair. "I'm... very well. Wonderful, really."

"For you and... your daughter."

She smiled and looked down at the little girl. "Yes."

"She's beautiful." I touched the girl's cheek. "And she looks very much like her father."

Katarah laughed softly. "Pol."

"Do you care to explain how that happened?"

"Oh." She kissed the child's hair and set her down. "I wasn't getting pregnant. Time was passing, I wasn't happy with Raketh. Garak helped me."

"And you're happy now."

"I'm very happy." She glanced at me and raised her eyebrows. "Many of the women here are like us. It's a safe place."

Something eased in my heart that I hadn't even realized was fear. "I'm so glad."

"You can't stay for a while?"

"No." I wrapped my arms around myself and glanced up at the sky. I needed to be miles from there already. "I'm afraid not."

"Of course." She took her daughter's hand. "We'll go back to the garden, so you don't have to explain."

"No kiss goodbye?" I asked before I could stop myself.

She leaned in close and kissed me, her mouth as sweet as I remembered. Then she was gone, and I stood alone under the tree.

As she walked away, I watched her daughter, who still set off the chimes in my head that said she was precisely who she ought to be.

"Mother," I whispered. "Master. I'm going to have a word with you."

_It's not their fault, Polgara_ , the calm voice of the Purpose said in my mind. _In the legal record, the child's father is Raketh, which is absolutely essential._

"It would've been much easier for me if I'd known that--"

_And it wouldn't have happened if you'd try to force it. I'm not interested in what's easy for you. I'm interested in what must happen._ There was a slight pause while I fumed and couldn't think of a response. _As you know perfectly well_.

I transformed again and clawed my way back into the sky. There was a distinct urge in my heart to fly to Tolnedra and spend a year or two living among the pampered nobility and ignoring any call from anyone associated with the Purpose, but that part of me came from Father, and I was very used to ignoring it. I did my duty, as ever, and went home to my studies and my work again.

**

I never saw Katarah again. I've thought of her often over the centuries, though, and checked in on her descendants as often as I could manage. The woman who would have been my handmaiden is now a grandmother, whose son oversees the military district of Araga. As Cthol Murgos rebuilds itself, her fingers manipulate any number of the strings of power--and her granddaughter, the spitting image of Katarah, is going to be a powerful figure in her own right in the years to come. I'm quite confident of that.

I've been reminded of her often in other ways, however. I don't know if Mother was responsible, or the Master, or the Purpose, but throughout the centuries, whenever I have lived somewhere long enough for plants to root and grow, red sweet-mouthed flowers have bloomed for me.


End file.
